


Not your Hero

by Malkuthe



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Champion - Freeform, Dark, M/M, galra - Freeform, hero - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:23:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8193545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malkuthe/pseuds/Malkuthe
Summary: “I’m sorry, but I can’t be your hero this time,” he said.


  “And why is that, Takashi?” he asked.


  The silence that followed stretched into eternity. Finally, he managed to gather the courage to say what he felt he needed to say. “Because—”

(The Major Character Death is not who you think it will be.)





	

_“I’m sorry, but I can’t be your hero this time,” he said._

_“And why is that, Takashi?” he asked._

_The silence that followed stretched into eternity. Finally, he managed to gather the courage to say what he felt he needed to say. “Because—”_

 

==========

 

The roar of the crowd was dulled only slightly by the helmet that sat snugly upon his head. It had been a while since the last time he’d worn this uniform. He didn’t feel like he deserved it anymore, but then again, maybe that just meant he deserved it even more.

As he always did, he made his way around the arena, riling up the crowd for the fight that was about to take place. As he made his rounds, he raised his arm in a fist over his head. The metal glowed with heat from the Galran technology in it, and, reveling in the energy of the crowd, he could almost forget that today meant the death of his old self.

Not that it mattered, anymore. He had meant what he had said at the start of all this, and he was keen to prove it. It was so much better to be a champion than a hero. Especially for _him._

Shiro came to a stop in front of the balcony that overlooked the arena. He dropped to one knee and lowered his eyes to the packed dirt that lay beneath his feet. “My king,” he said.

“Champion,” said Zarkon, in response. The tone the emperor used was cool and almost dismissive. “Give us a show.”

Shiro rose to his feet. He was just in time to catch the black bayard that was tossed casually in his direction. He jumped to snatch the weapon out of the air, and as he landed, the bayard turned into a wicked curved blade half as tall as he was. The momentum of Shiro’s movement drew the tip of the blade into an arc across the floor of the arena before it came to a halt.

Shiro raised his eyes to the balcony and regarded the lithe Galra that lounged in the chair beside Zarkon’s. Where the king was regal and imposing, the other radiated an impudence that seemed only appropriate on one as young as he. The younger Galra’s legs were pulled up onto the chair, an arm wrapped around the front of them to keep them in place. The Galra’s other arm was draped across the side of the chair, fingers lazily cradling a goblet filled with swirling quintessence.

“It will be my pleasure,” said Shiro, baring his teeth in a savage grin. Briefly, he caught sight of the yellow glow of his eyes in his reflection on the visor of his helmet.

It had been much easier than Shiro had expected to become the champion again. At first, he had found the notion scary, and had struggled with it through a number of sleepless nights, but now it was just another fact of life. He supposed he had always been meant to be the champion. That younger Galra’s champion, in particular.

“For you, my king,” said Shiro, leveling the blade at Zarkon. The emperor at least had the decency to smile. When he did the same for the younger Galra, all he got in return was a half-hearted grunt and a dismissive wave.

“And for you, my heart,” Shiro added, quietly, as he turned to face the barred iron portcullis that separated him from his opponent. The metal grate rose, opening the darkened passageway beyond it. From the shadows, two Galra emerged and tossed a young man forward into the light of the arena.

The young man pitched forward, taking a few stumbling steps as he looked around wildly. Shiro remembered the disorientation of being suddenly thrust into the light. He remembered how deafening the loud chorus of jeers and boos directed at the young man could be.

Shiro was half-amused by the tentative steps that the young man took. The way that the young man swayed slowly from side to side, helmet askew atop his head, the visor cracked but not beyond repair, and certainly not to the point of obstructing vision.

His opponent hardly seemed fit to fight against him, but if the colour of the paladin’s uniform was anything to go by, Shiro knew that this one was going to put on quite the fight until the bitter end. Already, the old lust of battle thrummed in his veins, and clenching his fist at his side was all he could do to not take the fight to the defenseless paladin.

The portcullis slammed shut behind the paladin with a resounding clang just as Zarkon tossed the red bayard halfway across the arena. It landed on the dirt floor with a clatter and slid for a good two feet before coming to a stop in the middle of a small cloud of dust. When the dirt settled, there was an uneasy silence that blanketed the arena.

Within moments a palpable tension had developed in the air. Each and every Galra in the stands had seen, either firsthand or vicariously through footage of battles, the capabilities of paladins with their bayards. That one, even a captive, would be given his bayard to fight with was enough to set even the bravest of the Galra on edge.

Shiro wasn’t nervous in the slightest. No matter how good this particular paladin was, it wasn’t going to be enough. Not when Shiro had a better reason than ever to fight.

The audience seemed to thrum with apprehension about what would happen next. The spectators as a whole seemed to hold their breaths as Shiro took a single step forward. Then, confusion swept through the stands as he stabbed his sword into the ground and leaned on it.

Shiro watched, amused, as the red paladin’s momentary disorientation passed. The paladin straightened, though still swaying slightly from side to side. However, there was a definite purpose to the young man’s movements, now.

The paladin looked up, eyes rising to meet Shiro’s and immediately, the young man’s expression tightened. Shiro could practically hear the grinding of teeth from where he stood. The deep, profound hurt in the paladin’s painfully familiar eyes struck a chord within Shiro and called forth a dull ache from the centre of his being.

The red paladin staggered forward, limping more than walking toward the centre of the arena where the red bayard lay. Shiro let him. He had been commanded by his king to give the crowd a show, and he was more than willing to indulge that desire.

Shiro knew well enough that there wasn’t going to be much of a show if Shiro and the boy weren’t at least on level playing field—at least in terms of technology. Not that the playing field was even remotely level to begin with. Even if the paladin had been well-rested, Shiro had years of experience and instincts honed in this very arena.

Even if Shiro gave the audience a show, the results of the fight were as good as written in stone.

The red paladin stopped in front of his bayard and regarded Shiro with a single pleading look. Shiro answered it with a small smirk. He had meant what he said. He wasn’t going to be a hero. Not this time.

A look of resignation and firm resolution solidified in the paladin’s familiar eyes. He swooped down to snatch the bayard from the dirt. In the paladin’s hands, the weapon turned into a shortsword that moved with him like an extension of his arm.

In that single moment, the atmosphere in the arena shifted from one of nervousness to one of anxious excitement. The Galra had finally realized that there was nothing to fear and that instead, they were in for a spectacular showdown.

Shiro stretched his prosthetic arm out in front of him, palm facing up to the ceiling. He curled his fingers toward himself, beckoning his opponent closer. He was essentially cornering himself against his side of the arena, but that didn’t matter.

Shiro, of all people, knew how to fight from the corner. It was what he’d had to do time and again to survive. This paladin in front of him, no matter what he might have meant to Shiro seemingly so long ago now, was not going to get in his way.

With a cry replete with anger and anguish, the red paladin rushed at Shiro with a speed that would have surprised anyone else, but not him. Shiro knew well enough the capabilities of the paladins he’d once been a part of.

Shiro ripped the sword out of the dirt with his left hand and feinted a block against the direction of the red paladin’s attack. Just as he had expected, the red paladin twirled at the very last moment, changing the direction of the attack.

The tip of the sword gouged a shallow line across Shiro’s torso, but it was a wound that he could just shrug off. Because he hadn’t committed himself to his block, he had a moment’s window to disarm the red paladin.

The red bayard flew through the air, flipping end over end, in the next instant. The red paladin had just a second to process what had happened before Shiro’s fist, glowing with energy, collided with the side of the paladin’s helmet. The paladin’s damaged visor shattered completely from the force of the blow, and the paladin himself was sent sprawling into the dirt ten feet away, just a few paces away from where the red bayard had fallen.

A heartbeat after Shiro manhandled the red paladin, the crowd was silent. Then, a thunderous roar erupted from the stands. Thousands of feet pounded at the steps that formed the seats. “Champion!” they cried out. “Champion! Champion! Champion!” They chanted.

Shiro chose to ignore it all. He didn’t need the crowd’s adoration or adulation. Only one Galra’s opinion mattered to him, and it wasn’t Zarkon for sure.

Shiro tuned out the crowd and turned to focus on his opponent. The paladin scrambled to his feet, grabbed the edge of the helmet, ripped it off and tossed it aside. The paladin reached down and snatched the bayard from the dirt, using that hand to wipe away a trickle of blood that had run down the corner of his lips.

“Shiro, this is madness,” the paladin said. The bayard transformed into a sword with a flash of light, and in mere moments, two heartbeats by Shiro’s reckoning, their weapons clashed again.

“This isn’t you, Shiro,” said the paladin. There was a desperation in his voice and in his eyes. Maybe, Shiro thought, the paladin had realized just how fucked he was. “You know it. I know it. Please. Come back to us. We can still fix things.”

Shiro slid his sword down the length of the paladin’s until it rested in the handguard. Then, with one deft motion, he shoved the paladin off of him. Swinging his sword in a great arc around his head, he struck, though his attack ricocheted off of the paladin’s shield. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be begging for your life?”

Shiro struck out with a series of blows. A diagonal slash downward and to the left. Then another to the right. Left. Right. Left. Each time, he was blocked by the red paladin, but with every strike, he could see the strain building in the paladin’s arms. “Don’t you think it’s too late for any of this noble bullshit?”

The red paladin struck back during a brief lull in Shiro’s cadence, but he easily sidestepped the blow. With a graceful half-twist, he brought his sword arching over his head and down. Sparks flew into the air as the blade was met by the paladin’s shield. “And besides, who the fuck do you think you are? Are you supposed to know who I am better than I do?”

The red paladin danced back from Shiro’s attacks, surprisingly light on his feet for the utter beating he was receiving. “Who am I?” he said, looking Shiro straight in the eye. Shiro could see the hurt and anger clearly written across the paladin’s face. “Your fucking boyfriend, Takashi.”

Shiro blocked the paladin’s attempted stab at his side with the flat of his blade. Using the momentum from the block, he pushed away the paladin’s sword and lunged forward with a stab of his own. The paladin jumped out of the way, just in the nick of time. “You told me I was your better half!”

The red bayard flew into the air again as Shiro parried the paladin’s attack with the elbow of his prosthetic arm. “Don’t you dare use that name again,” he hissed. “You don’t have the right.”

Before the paladin could do anything else, Shiro kneed him in the gut and then kicked him over when he sank to his knees. As the red paladin clutched his midriff and looked up at Shiro with tear-streaked cheeks, Shiro answered with a laugh that chilled even him. “You think so fucking highly of yourself.”

“Better half,” Shiro said, spitting with disdain at the ground between the fallen paladin’s sprawled legs. He brought his sword down in a series of slashes that streaked and screamed off of the paladin’s weakening shield. “If you were my _better_ half, you wouldn’t be on your ass right now.”

The paladin stopped moving for a heartbeat and Shiro struck without hesitation. At the last moment, the paladin rolled out of the way and lunged for the bayard, turning around just in time to clip Shiro’s sword and knock it aside. The paladin scrambled to his feet and parried another blow. “You said you loved me, Takashi,” said the paladin, softly.

“Oh please,” said Shiro, with a dark chuckle. He pressed forward with a series of three quick but powerful blows that the paladin only just survived. The last one left the paladin’s shield on its last legs. “You must have known all that time that my heart _really_ belonged to someone else. If you really knew me like you think you do, then you should have known the truth all that time.”

“That’s cold,” said the paladin, seemingly given new strength by the words. He answered Shiro’s attack with a withering advance of his own, for the first time in the fight actually pushing Shiro back by the sheer force of his blows. “That’s really fucking cold even from you.”

“I was willing to give up my life to be with you,” said the red paladin. Shiro could see he was fighting back tears even as his attacks grew fiercer and fiercer. Whenever their swords crossed now, the weapons screamed against each other and sparks showered the both of them. “You were the only thing that mattered to me, Takashi.”

The red paladin pressed forward with his attacks. “What the fuck happened to ‘I’ll always be with you,’ huh?”

Shiro laughed. “There’s a reason they’re called sweet nothings, darling,” he said. He masterfully parried every blow, but as he felt every impact grow stronger instead of weaker, he felt a gnawing concern in the pit of his stomach.

Shiro took a step backward, cursing when he realized he hadn’t paid enough attention as the red paladin’s leg clipped his and his footing slid out from right under him. A collective gasp rose from the spectating crowd as his back hit the dirt floor.

“Please,” said the paladin, “Don’t make me do this, Takashi.”

The red paladin’s sword was raised over his head with trembling hands. “I _really_ don’t want to.”

Shiro looked at the red paladin and pondered his choices for a moment. Then, he remembered, that this arena was not the place for honor. It was a place for survival. For putting on the best show. This paladin loved him still and that was a weakness that he had to be willing to exploit for his own ends.

“Then don’t,” Shiro whispered. He averted his gaze and put on the best approximation of remorse that he could manage. “I’ll go back with you. We’ll have to fight through all these Galra, but we’ll make things work out.” He flashed the paladin a smile.

For once, Shiro felt a little bit like his old self, but he quickly squished that feeling. “Really?” said the red paladin, not a trace of suspicion on his voice. The red paladin lowered his sword, and Shiro grabbed the opportunity to jump to his feet.

Shiro enjoyed watching the gleaming joy in the paladin’s eyes turn to panic, then hurt, as he realized that he had been betrayed. In the heartbeat that it took for the red paladin to raise his weapon again, Shiro quickly stepped around him and restrained him. He wrapped his prosthetic arm around the paladin’s neck and used the other to knock the bayard out of the paladin’s hand.

“Please, Shiro,” the paladin begged as Shiro tightened his arm around the paladin’s neck. “It’s not too late. We can still end this. We can still finish Zarkon once and for all.”

“I’m sorry, love,” said Shiro, with a cold smile. He licked the side of the paladin’s face, tasted the sweat and the fear that had gathered just behind the paladin’s ear. “I might have cared about that once, long ago. But I don’t anymore.”

With his free hand, Shiro tilted the paladin’s chin up and directed the paladin’s gaze to the viewing platform. He pointed toward the Galra seated beside Zarkon, who seemed to have gained some life since he last looked. “All I care about now is him.”

A resounding crack filled the silence that followed Shiro’s words. Matt’s body crumpled lifeless to the floor in front of him. Some _tiny_ part of him felt deeply hurt and remorseful over what he’d just done, but the small smile that appeared on the Galra’s—on Keith’s face was well worth it.

Shiro snatched his sword from the dirt and raised it to the sound of cheers from the crowd.

 

==========

 

As Shiro walked up to the viewing platform, he thought back to how this had all begun. The anger that he had felt. His desperation to find a way to end Zarkon once and for all.

When Keith had been captured, Shiro had felt like a part of him had been ripped out. They had looked far and wide. They had overturned entire prison planets, scoured every fleet that they had come across. Not once had they found Keith in the months, in the years that followed.

They had planned their final assault on Zarkon carefully for years. They had prepared for months, gathering allies from all over the universe for a final strike against the Galra. Everything had been set until _the video_ arrived.

Shiro looked at the Galra sat beside Zarkon and felt a pang of guilt. He had let Matt into his heart when he had known it belonged only to Keith. It was a profound betrayal and no matter how many times the Galra told him it was not his fault, he begged for the punishment that he believed he deserved.

It had taken years for Shiro to give up on Keith. It had taken years for all his grief to crystallize into hatred for Zarkon. It had taken years for him to open himself up to anyone else, but _the video,_ seemingly sent by a distressed Keith asking for help, had thrown all of that out of the window.

Because of the video, Shiro’d had the paladins throw out years of planning. He hadn’t been willing to let anyone tell him that Keith was not the primary objective of the assault. When Matt had suggested it, Shiro had nearly punched him.

The plan had been adjusted. Delicate timings had been moved around to give the paladins ten minutes to retrieve Keith before the shit hit the fan. In those ten minutes, Shiro liked to think to himself, they had pulled off everything to near perfection.

Except, ultimately, when faced with the truth, he had snapped.

 

==========

 

_Shiro had expected to find a prison, not a lavish room filled with velvet and a bed so huge it looked lonely while just a single figure lounged luxuriously upon it. He had expected to smell excrement, piss, fear, and blood, not the lovely soothing scent of lavender with a hint of rose._

_Even the lights defied Shiro’s expectations. He had expected them to be stark, harsh, bright, and clinical, not dim and titillating to the senses._

_Above all else, Shiro had expected to come upon a young man, worse for wear, probably bearing the mark of years of torture. He had expected to see Keith, with his dark hair and his discerning eyes, not the young, lithe, and unquestionably_ beautiful _Galra that lay reclined in the bed, watching him closely with glittering yellow eyes._

_Shiro could not find the words to speak. His mind couldn’t even string together the simplest of thoughts. “What happened?” he managed, after a while. It was all he could think to ask._

_“Simple, really,” said Keith, with a lazy lopsided grin. “I was made aware of my true heritage.” Keith regarded him with a chilling stare. “It’s been a while. Have you come to play the part of my hero, Takashi?” Keith purred._

_Shiro’s chest tightened at the question. A pink tinge crept into his cheeks from the way that his name rolled off of Keith’s tongue in sibilant syllables. The way that Keith looked at him sent tingles up his spine._

_Out of nowhere, Shiro felt as though he was powerless. The strength left his legs and he sank to his knees. His arms fell to either side of him. The black bayard, which they’d spent so long trying to get, fell with a clatter to the floor beside him._

_Memories of his own time in Galra captivity flooded through Shiro’s mind. He remembered how they had turned him into a killing machine filled with rage and spite even though he fought against them at every step of the way. They had ultimately changed him. Broken him._

_As he looked upon Keith, Shiro’s mind was near-catatonic with horror. What on earth could they have done to Keith to make him like this? “How long have you… How long have they…” Shiro couldn’t bring himself to ask Keith if he had suffered while Shiro gave up. “How long?”_

_“I wasn’t tortured, if that’s what you’re getting at,” said Keith. “They told me who I_ really _was almost as soon as I was captured. Haggar helped me remember.”_

_Shiro looked up at Keith and saw a twinkle in those yellow eyes. “When she restored my memories, I felt like I’d been set free. Like I was finally who I had always been meant to be.” Keith bared his teeth, sharp and intimidating. “_ This _is who I am. What I am.”_

_Keith reached over to his nightstand and retrieved a goblet filled with a faintly glowing purple liquid—presumably Quintessence. He swirled the contents of the cup before taking a delicate sip. “Would you still have me as I am?” Keith said._

_Shiro didn’t know. “The video?” he asked, remembering how battered Keith had looked in the image. How desperate Keith had sounded. His heart still ached seeing those images in his mind’s eye._

_“Oh, that,” said Keith, waving a hand dismissively. “Acting,” he said. “Acting and a lot of make up.”_

_Keith chuckled, the sound chilling Shiro to the core. When Keith had started chuckling, he had expected to hear something evil in Keith’s voice, something similar to Zarkon, but he hadn’t. Instead, Keith sounded so carefree. So_ happy _“It was pretty good acting, too, if you ask me.”_

_There used to be a time when only Shiro could make Keith laugh like that. He bit back the tears. He genuinely didn’t know what to think, much less what to do. Keith was now one of the enemy. But it was Keith. Keith couldn’t be the enemy. Shiro’s heart belonged to him._

_“Why go through all this trouble?” Shiro begged. “Are you toying with me? What did I ever do to you?”_

_Keith’s gasp sounded sincerely offended. Shiro looked up and saw the glare that the Galra was shooting him from across the bed. “I went through all this trouble because I wanted_ you. _Zarkon gave me freedom, and while that made me happier than I’ve been in a while, it wasn’t the same without you.”_

_Keith crawled to the edge of the bed and lay there, arms hanging off. He tilted his head as he regarded Shiro with a flat gaze. “I told Zarkon I wanted you for myself. He said I could have you if I brought him the other paladins. So I did.”_

_Shiro’s heart hammered in his chest. He had led his team right into a trap, but somehow, he didn’t feel quite as guilty as he felt he should be. Keith wanted him. After all this time. Keith didn’t feel completely happy without him._

_Shiro didn’t understand. This wasn’t how their story was supposed to go. They had been paladins. Sworn defenders of the universe. Now, though, one of them was with the enemy, and he himself was having a crisis of loyalties._

_Shiro knew that he_ had _to rescue Keith and to bring him back. But Keith looked so happy. Keith’s smiling face had been such a rarity back then. Could he really deny this from Keith?_

_Again his days in the arena flashed before Shiro’s mind’s eye. Maybe there was a reason that Sendak had captured him. Maybe there was some grand design at work that had seen him turned into a living weapon of the empire. Maybe, just maybe, his days in the arena had been a taste of his true destiny._

_Shiro looked at Keith and couldn’t help but think to himself that he wanted, more than anything, for Keith to be happy._

_An insidious darkness crept into Shiro’s thoughts and he felt a familiar heat—desire—spread through him. An old lust for battle had been rekindled within him, and he could feel the rush of being the champion in the back of his mind._

_Shiro knew he stood at a juncture and that he had a decision to make. Could he do as he always did and follow the path he knew was right, even if it meant taking Keith away from what made him happy? Or could he abandon everything he’d held near and dear for the last handful of years just so he could be with Keith and make Keith happy?_

_In the end, Shiro realized it wasn’t even much of a question. He looked at Keith and said, as he rose to his feet, “I’m sorry.” The words fell from his tongue as though they were made of lead. “But I can’t be your hero this time.”_

_Keith reached out and placed his hand on Shiro’s hip. “And why is that, Takashi?” he drawled, with a smirk._

_Shiro snatched the black bayard from the floor. His eyes took on a pale yellow glow in the dim light of the room. He gathered his courage. He needed it to take the next step. “Because it would be_ so _much easier being your champion.”_

_Behind Shiro, the doors to the room slid open with a hiss. “Shiro!” said Lance. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve been trying to reach you for the last few minutes. We_ need _to g—!”_

_Whatever else Lance would have said died in his throat as Shiro turned to face him. The black bayard took on the form of a wicked curved sword as Shiro advanced toward the door._

_Keith looked up, smiled, and waved almost casually. “Oh hi, Lance,” he purred. “I would start running if I were you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> *cackles evilly* When I introduced my writing to the Voltron fandom, I think I made it pretty clear that angst was my specialty. I love Sheith, and it captures my attention in a way that, simply put, none of the other Voltron ships do. So, that being said, I would like to apologize in advance for the tears that I may inflict on you all. If you keep daring to read my fics, that is.
> 
> In any case, I hope you liked this particular fic. :3. I don't know if I'll write a follow-up to it someday, but I've got a pretty good idea about where the story would head after this. Please, leave a kudos if you liked the fic, and leave a comment to let me know your thoughts! That would genuinely make my day as the feedback from comments give me so much motivation to keep on writing. :3.
> 
> That's it for now. Long live Sheith and _suck it_ antis!


End file.
